Previous Authors Stories

This page is dedicated to all those authors, who previously were authors on Noble Novels.

To Lay Down His LifeBy Justus

{Note from the editor: This is a really noble story and sometimes when you have really noble acts it can be too much for people who are younger. I'm suggesting that kids 12 and under should not read this story.}

Flanders, August 1, 1918.

He arrived. Meek and mild, tin hat fumbling in hand, he showed up one morning at my tent. Barnabas Scott, newest private of my squad, arrived on the field that first day of swelty August.

He bit down on the hunk of bully beef he held in his hand. “Ye know where he came from?” “No.”

“Before him got drafted, him was a preachin’ boy.”

“Preaching?”

“He, he, he! Won’t he learn somethin’ about us?” He bit down again.

I stirred my broth. Vinny was rough, but that was what I liked about him. Our backgrounds were different, yet similar in some ways. He grew up working in a New York City casino. Poker teaches a fellow a lot about life.

I, however, had never handled more than fifty bucks in my entire life. I grew up an orphan, never knowing my ma or pop, living among rednecks and drunks in the little town of Murfreesboro, Tennessee. Forget the drinking part, for I never stepped into a threshold of a public house. I despised the thought of getting tipsy. But those kind of acquaintances sure do make you kind of lonesome.

The only person I took the smallest liking to was the ex-gambler Vinny Edwards, now my reliable corporal. I hung around him because we both trusted no one else, and cared only little for each other. It was a strange companionship. I knew not where it would lead.

I tuned back to his words.

“Bob, listen to me. Ye’ve got to smoosh ‘im. An’ no religion. I despise religion. Ye’ve––“ At this moment Vinny paused, for who else but Private Scott trotted up to the table.

The man was an amusing sight to behold. Mammoth, round, and foggy glasses perched on the edge of his large nose. The guy had a problem with his height-to-width proportion. Over 6’5 from hat to boot, his waist size had to be under 30’. The guy was a beanpole, of the bush variety, from the size of his whiskers. The dark hair straggled in all directions, reminding me of a certain farmer back home. This time, however, the uncontrolled hair wasn’t paired with tobacco and distilled hops. Parsons were always missing some things.

Private Scott saluted me and sat down at the table, his eyelids a continual flutter, and his lips a lop-sided grin. The pale man looked as if he had never seen a fellow human being outside his moldy book covers. And those ridiculous Bible stories.

Vinny nudged me mischievously. “That’s the preachin’ boy there now.”

“I know his face. He had to report.”

“Right-o. I know that. I’m just sayin’...Don’t we want to tell him a few thins’ now.” “Hmm. No.”

“You may.” I answered, preventing Vinny from talking with a strong stamp on his foot.

Private Scott coughed. “Oh. Alright. I thought you may like to know a little about me.”

“I know enough.”

“Really? Oh. You know then I’m a pastor of a church in Tennessee?”

“Pastor, yes. Tennessee, no.”

“Oh. Well, I need to ask you though... um.... Will you allow me to talk to my comrades about my Christianity?”

I glanced at Vinny, then back at the private. “Hmm... Yes, you may. But I won’t encourage it. There’ll those who’ll try and stop you. And I won’t discourage them.”

I glanced at Vinny again. He grinned slyly. I might discourage him, too, I tried to tell my corporal through my looks. He grinned wider.

“Now,” I turned back to the nervous private. “Get out of here and get your weapon ready. We move tonight.”

“Night-ops.” piped Vinny.

Scott paused.

“Move!” I yelled.

Scott shot up and scampered away. Vinny chuckled.

––––––––––––––––––––––

I woke up that night around midnight after haunting dreams. My napper still ached from the long nap.

Well, I only slept only two hours. I shot a glance at my watch.

“Sarge.” It was Vinny. “The boys are ready. We move in at 1230, correct?”

“Got it.” I threw on my coat and hat.

I went to the captain’s office and reported, then found my men and briefed them. When it was all done, I jumped into the back of the waiting truck, signaling my men to follow. We sat silent as the bumpy automobile took us pass the tents and outposts, then down the lonely dark road.

The gate was lowered and we slowly, one by one, snuck out into a deep ditch.

We crouched as Corporal Edwards peeked over the edge.

“One. Wait, two. Two sentries.”

“How far apart?”

“Hun’red yards.”

“We take out the closest. Private Scott, you here?”

“Yes.”

“Crawl out and slug that enemy sentry.”

“Uhh...”

“Move!”

Private Scott crawled out and slithered through the tall grass and pass the barbed wire towards the lone German soldier, quietly smoking a long cigarette.

“Corporal Edwards, you come with me.”

“Sure, Sarge.”

We slid out and crawled under the moon-lit sky.

I gripped the broom-handle of my Mauser C-96 pistol. I liked automatics.

Scott was close enough now to down the Kraut. Vinny and I paused.

A long, slender object leaped up suddenly and grasped the man. A short struggle ensued. Then the limp German body was slowly laid to the ground.

“Let’s hurry.” I told Vinny. “No dallying.”

We caught up to Private Scott. The man was seated on the ground, staring at the lifeless face of the body he had just killed.

“Snap out of it.” I ordered. “You come with us.”

Scott followed us two for the twenty yards till the sunken trench. We all crouched on our haunches.

“Corporal, you dig. Scott, you and I keep an eye out.”

Scott cocked his Enfield. I smirked. Wait you have fought in a real battle. You can pick up auto pistols from the dead bodies. I swung my Mauser.

“I’ve cut it.” Vinny broke the silence.

“Good. Let’s get back.”

I looked at my watch. Fifteen minutes. The attack would begin when we got back. We must hurry.

We crawled through the thick grass, thistles ripping my brown coat.

I whispered to Vinny. “Corporal, the private’s a––“

At that moment, I tripped on a large object. Something sharp stabbed my arm. I let out a howl.

Suddenly, a shout echoed close by, and I heard footsteps hurrying towards us.

“What has happened?” Scott asked, his voice quavering.

I looked down. I could almost have killed myself for my stupidity. Before me lay the body of the sentry. It was Scott’s abandoned knife which had somehow pricked me as I fell on the body. Now another body approached.

I stood on my knees and leveled my pistol. A crack reported, and a bullet wheezed by my face.

“Take cover!” I screamed.

I fell on my face.

The air suddenly erupted in the fire of rifles and pistols. Tracers from a machine flew everywhere.

I looked up at the sound of a movement above me. A tall massive German leaped out of the grass, a bayonet pointed at my throat.

Then, I will never fully remember all that occurred those short seconds, but I felt at that deathlike moment, a hard body leap on me. I cried out. I struggled, but then instantly I laid still at the sickening sound of a knife stabbing flesh. I couldn’t move. A loud rifle report exploded in my ear.

Blood oozed over my face, but it wasn’t mine. Something cold and heavy lay on me. I exerted my strength and tossed it off. I rose to my knees and looked at that something.

There lay the late Private Scott, a bayonet protruding from his chest. I glanced at my pal Vinny.

“What happened?”

“The fool jumped on ye just as the Germen dove with ‘is rifle. I took care of the Kraut.”

I didn’t comprehend it all. I found my pistol under the body of my late assailant.

“Here you go, Sergeant. The papers and letters of Private Scott as you requested.” The young trim private and his shiny boots marched out of my little tight tent.

War will teach him. I glanced at the bundle of paper on the table. Looks like parsons have a mighty large correspondence. I hadn’t received a letter ever.

I glanced at the first envelope. It was signed Lucy Scott, Murfreesboro.

Family, I grunted. I pulled out the letter and scanned the heading. It read,

Dearest Barney,

I know not what to write. The babes––

I stopped there. Just another widow in this world. I looked up from the ink. And orphans.

The tent-flap opened and Vinny Edwards strode in. He plopped down into a stool beside me and glanced at the letters. He took the letter from my hand and scanned it.

“Humph. His wife, eh? I told you the guy was cracked. Why else would ‘e kill ‘imself for a sarge who didn’t like ‘im when ‘e had a wife at home?”

“Please, Edwards, don’t nag me. I am muddled up enough already.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Well, well, well, what’s so muddlin’, eh?”

“The man.”

“Ha! He was a complete fool. Nut. Maniac. Isn’t that enough?”

“Shut up! Leave me alone, will you? At least, be quiet!”

Vinny snorted and turned back to the letter he held in his hand.

I sifted through his belongings. I had to know more of the man. There was something more to him then I knew. Of course, I had only known him one day.

His personal correspondence interested me little, so I put them aside and sorted through the remaining items. I paused when I saw a small brown leather book. Stamped in the cowhide were the familiar words: Holy Bible. I opened the first page and read the handwritten cursive.

To Our Beloved Son, Barnabas.

We hope you may grow up to be a man of God

Pa and Ma Scott.

I thumbed the thin pages meditatively. I wondered if this was the source of his strength, and the cause of his sacrifice. For sacrifice it was.

“Is that a Bible?” Vinny spat nearby me.

“Yes. But be quiet.”

“I can’t!” he shot out passionately. He laid a sweaty hand on the book. “Bob, this ain’t no good. Don’t ye get perverted now. Only fools read––“

“Sit down!” I yelled.

Vinny slowly sat, rubbing his hands together nervously.

“I’ll do what I wish, casino-shark! Not you!” I stated.

“It’s no good, I tell ye!”

“Get out!” I reinforced my command with a gentle push of my boot on his chest. He screamed, sprawled, and scrambled. I wished him a hearty good riddance.

I turned back to the rest of Scott’s belongings. I laid down the Bible, and briefly glanced at the other documents. The book on the bottom of the stack stopped me. I flipped it open, and instantly reckoned it as a journal. I turned to the back.

Scrawled on the dusty page were the words I would never forget.

“I’ve found my brother. They were right, his name is Loner. Bob Loner. He’s from Murfreesboro too. Just like I was told. There can be none other. I won’t tell him at first. Try him out. But Godhelping I’ll––“

I did not need to read the remainder. It all made sense now. Perfect sense. He was my brother. How he knew about me, and found me out was a miracle I would never figure out. But I did not need to guess that he was really my brother.

He must have been my older brother, cherished until some horrible incident caused him to lose both his father and mother, the mother who died in childbirth of the brother he never knew. But he found me and he had sacrificed himself to show that brotherly love he had all these years. Oh, surely he must have had some greater love to take the bullet for a man who despised him.

I irresistibly reached out for that Holy Bible.

––––––––––––––––––––––

Captain Ronald Brooks, commander of Company A, 13th Regiment, dropped the worn book from his hands.

He turned to a sergeant beside him.

“So, this is what changed Sergeant Loner. Sergeant Edwards, tell me again, what did happen to the gallant fellow?”

The lanky New Yorker sat down and rubbed his hands. “Well, ye see, after I departed from ‘im that night, I did not talk to ‘im again till that unlucky day of the battle. We marched out as usual, but then the Krauts hit us in the rear. Bob’s boys were detailed to pull out an ordnance truck which the enemy were destroying.

“We got it safe out, and we were on our way back to report. But then, I’ll never forget as long as I live that there machine gun pointing right at me, I was shot in the arm twice and in the leg. I hit the dirt but the German kept shooting. My tin hat flew off.

“At that instance, a body leaped in front of me, right in the bullet’s path. He fell, shot through. I crawled over to him, for his move had blocked the gun’s view. I turned over the body and looked into the face. It was Bob Loner.” ​

A Jew in a Gentile's WorldBy Mikayla

I hurried up the mosey hill, the wind playing with my dress as I went. The basket at my side tipped as I lost my footing, threatening to spill the berries inside. I chided myself but kept my rushed pace, my mistress would be mad if I was not back by the morning meal. I came to the top of the hill into view of the palace I paused for a moment to take in the sight. The whitewashed stones that made up Lord Pilate’s house seemed to glow from the light of the sun which was just barely peeking up from the ground. It was the morning after Passover, but nobody here cared, it was just like any other day for both servants and masters. I knew people thought I was odd, a young Jewish girl working in a gentile’s house. But I believed Yahweh had sent me here to be a witness to the people here. I walked around to the back of the house where the servants door was and slipped in, almost unnoticed in the hustle of preparations for the meal.

“Abigail, your finally back. I thought you had gotten lost.” A middle-aged lady said as she looked up from the bread she was kneading.

“I’m sorry Hannah, it took me a bit longer then I thought.” I said setting down my basket.

“It’s okay child, just go fetch me some water.” She smiled.

So I grabbed the bucket by the door and strode back outside and to the well. Tying the rope to it I lowered it down until I heard a splash of water then I slowly raised it back up.

“You, servant.”

I whirled around and came face to face with a man whom I knew by his cloths to be a high priest.

“Go inform Lord Pilate that we have a prisoner that needs his attention.” He said curtly.

“Won’t you wait inside?” I asked gesturing towards the house.

“We cannot, we would be ceremonially unclean. Ask Pilate to come out to us.”

I bowed silently, taking the moment to look at the prisoner. So many criminals had been brought to Pilate that I had gotten used to them. This man looked like a regular Jew, nothing special in his features or manners but I didn’t have any time to study him, I had duties to attend to. I rushed inside to the grand hall where Pilate was seated on an elevated chair, his costly robes draped around him.

“Lord Pilate.” I said bowing “There is a group of high priests with a prisoner for you.”

“Tell them to come in.” Pilate sighed, taking a drink from his goblet.

“They wish for you to come to them” I repeated “or else they will become unclean.”

“Yes of course.” Pilate said, seeming to snap into focus all the sudden as he stood up. “Guard, take the prisoner away while I talk to the priests.”

I retreated back through the door and out to the well again where I watched while the guard took the man away and Pilate came out. I listened while hauling my bucket up again.

“Who is it that you have brought to me?” Pilate said as he came down the stairs.

“Jesus of Nazareth.” They said.

I nearly dropped the bucket again at the mention of his name, I had heard many things about this man and the great miracles he had performed, surely there were false prophets but this man did not seem like the others.

“What charges do you bring against this man?” Pilate said.

“If he were not a criminal we would not have handed him over to you.” One of them said.

“Take him yourself and judge him by your own law.” Pilate said, frustrated.

“But we have not right to execute anyone.” The Jews objected.

The expression on Pilates face remained like a stone but I was surprised. They wanted Pilate to kill him even before they had told him of the charges.

“I will go and speak to the man.” He said turning and leaving the priests to talk among themselves.

I hauled the water inside then slipped into a dark corner of the hall, greatly interested in what the prisoner would say.

The guard brought Jesus in and stood back, leaving Pilate to his questioning.

“Are you the king of the Jews?” Pilate said, standing right in front of the man.

“Is this your own idea” Jesus asked “Or did others talk to you about me?”

“Am I a Jew?” Pilate said, the irritation showing in his voice “It was your people and you chief priests who handed you over to me. What is it you have done?”

“My kingdom is not of this world. If it were my servants would fight to prevent my arrest by the Jews. But now my kingdom is from another place.” Jesus said calmly.

“You are a king then!” Pilate said victoriously.

“You are right in saying I am a king. In fact, this reason I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth, everyone on the side of truth listens to me.”

“What is the truth?” Pilate asked and without waiting for a response, he turned and left.

When the guard had taken Jesus back to the dungeon I slid out of my hiding place and stood for a moment in the empty hall. Why was I so interested in this man? Surely he has performed some great miracles but not all prophets were prophets of Yahweh. I believed in Yahweh but did I believe this man was sent by Yahweh to save us?

I shoved all these thoughts aside and went to help prepare the morning meal.

********

I sighed as I hauled another bucket of water into the house; it had been a long day. It was mid-evening now but the house was still buzzing with people. Jesus had been sent to Herod when it had been discovered that he was a Galilean then he was sent back and now Pilate was questioning him with the high priests. On top of that Pilate’s wife was having a bad day and a crowd was gathering outside, waiting to hear what would happen to Jesus. I peered into the courtyard where they were questioning him:

“Do you hear the testimony they are bringing against you?” Pilate’s voice boomed.

Jesus remained silent and I could see the surprise on Pilates face.

“I will go to the judges seat, so the people outside may hear my verdict also.” Pilate said and I hurried away from the door and up to my mistress’s room where I had been summoned.

“Mistress Claudia, you called me.” I said bowing to her.

“Yes, I want you to deliver a message to my husband. Tell him: ‘Don’t have anything to do with that innocent man, for I have suffered a great deal in a dream today because of him.’”

I bowed and left, hurrying to the judge’s seat and delivering the message. Then I stood towards the back of the balcony and listened.

“I have come to tell you I find no basis for a charge against the man named Jesus.” Pilate said and there was a grumbling from the crowd. Two guards brought Jesus out and I winced, they had given him the customary treatment, a beating. He was bleeding in several places but he had a purple robe on and a crown made of thorns, they were a way of mocking him for claiming to be a king.

“Crucify him!” The high priests called from below.

Pilate stood up and motioned for the guards to follow him, I stayed close behind, carrying a goblet of wine if ever Pilate should want it.

“Where do you come from?” Pilate asked Jesus almost pleadingly. But Jesus gave him no answer. “Do you refuse to speak to me? Don’t you realize I have power either to free you or to crucify you?”

“You would have no power over me if it were not given to you from above.” Jesus answered, “Therefore the one who handed me over to you is guilty of a greater sin.”

Pilate seemed to be stunned for a moment then he hurried back outside and I followed.

“You brought me this man as one who was inciting the people to rebellion. I have examined him and have found no basis for your charges against him. Neither has Herod. As you can see has done nothing to deserve death. Therefore I will punish him and release him.”

“Release Barabbas!” They cried out in one voice.

I gasped, Barabbas was a murderer and they would pick him over a prophet?

“What should I do with Jesus who is called Christ?” Pilate asked.

“Crucify him!”

“Why? What crime has he committed?”

“Crucify him!” They cried louder.

“Bring me water.” Pilate ordered, and I did. He washed and dried his hands then said: “I am innocent of this man’s blood. He is your responsibility.”

“Let his blood be on us and on our children.” The crowd yelled.

I turned towards Jesus, a tear slipping down my cheek. He looked at me, a tear sliding down his face as well. I turned and left, busying myself with my work.

********

It was early on the Sabbath morning and I was kneaded bread in the almost empty kitchen. Jesus had been crucified, confirming the fact that he was not the Redeemer as I had hoped. One of Pilates guards had been stationed at the tomb, along with others to insure no one would steal the body and make it look like he had resin from the dead. I had little hope of that though deep inside I still thought he might. The air outside was cool as I went to draw water from the well. The sun touched the earth with its yellow rays, making the dew shine like stars.

A was about to lower the bucket when I noticed one of the guards who had been stationed at the tomb coming up to the house looking dazed.

“What happened?” I asked running up to him.

“While I was at the tomb, a group of women came to prepare the body and while they were there a great earthquake arose and a man whose appearance was light lightning came and rolled away the stone. The tomb was empty and he said ‘Do not be afraid, the man you are looking for has risen from the dead.’”

I took a step back, to surprised at first to believe it then with mounting joy I turned and ran all the way up the hill at back of the palace and danced with joy.

As the sun rises out of the darkness, so the son of God rose from a dark tomb.

I am Abigail, a Jew in a gentile’s world.

Get Back Up Again by Mikayla Prologue

My skates slid out from under me and I landed on the ice with a thud. Sighing, I stood back up, glad no one was there to witness the mess I was making of my routine. It had been a bad week, and the stress of it all was coming out in my skating. My trainer had died, and I had lost two competitions, leaving me feeling confused and depressed. Everyone told me I had talent, and I loved doing it, but sometimes it didn’t seem worth it to spend all my time on something as petty as a sport. I spun, slowly lifting my leg until I was looking up at the heel of my skate. My blade made a satisfying swishing noise as it spun, kicking up ice shavings as it went. I brought my leg down and slid over to the benches on the edge of the rink. Taking a seat, I untied my pastel pink skates. They had been a gift from my parents on my nineteenth birthday last month. I slipped on my shoes and hung my skates over my shoulder.

I stepped out into the almost empty street and took a deep breath of the chilly winter air. I loved the cold; it was so crisp and fresh. A shiny blue bus came into view right as I rounded the corner; I picked up my pace, glad that I had caught it in time. The machine next to the driver chirped happily as I slid my pass, and I took a seat near the front. The city flew by as the bus picked up speed, and I sighed as I remembered there was one last competition the next day.

“It’s just a competition Gracie; you don’t have to do it.” I whispered to myself reassuringly. But somewhere my brain was yelling at me that I couldn’t give up before I tried.

“Drury Hotel.” The bus driver called, opening the door.

I was the only one who got off at the tall building. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was where I called home for the week. I went inside and took the elevator to the third story and unlocked my room. It was a comfortable little place, with a kitchenette attached to the living room and a small bedroom. It was perfect for a week from out of town, and I enjoyed having the time to myself.

I plopped down on the couch and slid my ice skates off my shoulder. I sat for a moment, enjoying the stillness of it all before I turned on my laptop and typed in my password: Persevere. Why did I set it to that? I thought sighing; I didn’t really want to persevere right now. I clicked on my browser and opened up my Yahoo account, hoping an actual person had emailed me instead of the ten or more automatic updates that usually sat in my inbox. By some sort of miracle there were three emails from real live people, the most interesting of which was from my big sister, Ester.

Hey Gracie, It read.

Mom told me about your competitions, I am so sorry. I wish I could have been there for you but with collage and all it was just impossible. I know you’ve got one more competition so let me know how it goes.

Just do your best and leave the rest up to God. Know that I’ll be cheering for you!

Lots of Love, Ester

I smiled; Ester always knew what to say and when to say it. I closed down my computer and hurried to get to bed. It had been a long day and I was tired.

*******

Why does morning always come so soon after I’ve gone to bed? I slammed my hand down on the small clock; succeeded in making it fall to the ground and turn off at the same time. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, wishing I didn’t have to go anywhere today.

“Do you want me to enter, God?” I asked, only half meaning it as I picked out a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. “I mean, it’s just a contest. Does it really matter that much?”

A little voice in my head was saying it mattered a lot, but I was reluctant to accept it. I was tired, worn and ready to give up.

“When you are weak I am strong.” The verse played itself over and over in my head, refusing to let me forget the hours I had spent memorizing it and others like it.

I took a quick shower and dressed, and then I grabbed my bag with my skates and outfit in it and went down to the bus stop. I probably could afford a rental car, but I didn’t like traveling alone. I loved being able to see new people every time I go somewhere.

The bus didn’t take long to get there, and I sat next to a man who didn’t speak English, causing me retreat to my phone to scroll through endless Facebook updates till we arrived at the skating arena. I hopped out, pausing for a moment to look up at the huge dome on the building. I walked through the revolving doors and to the sign-up desk.

“Name?” The lady droned.

“Gracie Nolan.” I smiled, hoping to get something other than a scowl out of her.

“Here’s your papers, make sure you don’t lose them,” she said, shoving a large envelope over at me. “The contest will begin in an hour.”

“Thank you,” I said, almost laughing. It didn’t seem right to laugh at a woman like that, but sometimes I just found humor in weird places.

“The lady’s dressing rooms are down there and to your right,” she said, pointing towards a crowded hallway.

“Thanks,” I said again and walked into the mass of girls waiting to get into the dressing rooms.

“Aren’t you Gracie Nolan?” someone next to me asked. I turned and discovered a girl whom I guessed to be around seventeen.

“Yes, who are you?” I asked, smiling as I shook her outstretched hand.

“Arianna David.” She grinned “I saw you yesterday, you were really good.”

“Obviously not good enough, I lost.” I sighed, though it sounded more dramatic than I meant it to still fit my mood pretty well.

“You’re a lot better than I am. This is my first contest and I got ranked twenty-second.” She said, her shoulders dropped.

“Don’t worry; I got ranked twentieth, so I didn’t do much better than you.” I smiled encouragingly.

“I hope I don’t lose again.” She sighed.

“You know that old saying, ‘If at first you don’t succeed try, try again.”’ I laughed. “It’s not fun sometimes, but it sure does work.”

“But standing back up makes you feel a bit dizzy sometimes.” Arianna sighed and I was sure she meant it both literally and metaphorically.

“Well, good luck!” I said as we got to the dressing rooms.

“Good luck.” She smiled.

I changed into a pale blue, long-sleeved shirt that went far past my waist. I was told I probably lost appeal, because my outfits were not like the other girls. But I liked the way I dressed, and I didn’t see any reason to wear something immodest just to get some more attention.

I tossed my short brown hair into a pony tail and put some hair clips in to keep it out of my face. Then I took a long look at my short figure in the mirror.

“You can do it, Gracie.” I said determinedly. “You’ll be great, even if you don’t win.”

Still unconvinced, I gathered my bag and, after asking directions, went to the seating designated for the competitors. It was a full hour before it started, and then I watched as one after another girl did her routine.

When I saw that I was next I went down to the floor, strapped on my skates and warmed up a bit. Then, before I knew it, I was being called onto the rink. I slid out, making a wide half circle before I stopped in the middle. The judges were in front of me, my competitor behind me and the audience all around me. My heart thumped as I sat for an agonizing moment waiting for the music to begin. Finally, it began. My fear soon melted into determination to get my routine right. With every move I completed I felt more and more confident. Then was the hardest part of the routine, two triple axles in a row. As I went in for the first one I took in a deep breath and bit my lip. The jump, spin and landing, I made it! I went in for the next one feeling reassured – the jump, spin and then thud. I hit the ice, but not with my blade, and I went shoulder first into the guard wall. For a moment all I could think about was how much it hurt, I was pretty sure I had dislocated or broken something. Then I realized I needed to get back up, I could still finish my routine, but it didn’t seem worth it. Then I remembered what Ester had said: “Do your best and leave the rest up to God.” Somehow I managed to summon enough courage and strength to stand up. The whole auditorium was dead silent as I slid back out. As I began spinning the whole crowd started to clap along with the music. I crouched down, extending my arms and one of my legs. Then I straightened up and I brought my leg above my head and held onto the blade. The pain remained just as strong, but it didn’t matter to me, all I could feel was the encouragement of the whole audience. I amazed even myself by only making one more mistake in the routine.

As the music faded out and I slid back to my starting point. I smiled bigger than I ever had. If I won the competition or not didn’t matter to me anymore. I had won a victory I found more important: being able to get back up again, even after apparent defeat.

As I slid out of the rink I thanked God for small victories, because they give us the strength we need to fight the bigger battles.

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